


To enter in these bonds is to be free

by pretense



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Exhibitionism, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Sibling Incest, Underage warning is for Colonial!America x England, Voyeurism, also there WILL be age gaps of questionable ranges, vague endings hahahaha, which is apparently a kink now... weird but it's done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12247728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretense/pseuds/pretense
Summary: A UKUS collection of Kinktober Fills





	1. DAY 1 : Sleepy Sex

**Author's Note:**

> I had way too much fun at kinktober last year so i'm doing it again~ But this time it's going to be all UKUS in as many variations as I can imagine  
> Prompts list from [here](https://kinktober2017.tumblr.com/post/163962052261/).
> 
> Title is from John Donne's Elegy XIX which can be read [here](https://www.eecs.harvard.edu/~keith/poems/Elegy19.html), and is also a hot as all fuck [UKUS doujinshi by Sanctuary](https://order.mandarake.co.jp/order/detailPage/item?itemCode=1064239344).

England wakes to a quiet pre-dawn. The brine of the sea is gone from the air replaced with the faint fragrance of roses and a whiff of the forest caught in the threads of freshly-laundered sheets. There’s a warm weight against his side, possessive in the way smaller hands clutch at his robes. America sleeps with his face tucked into England’s shoulder, matching every breath.

He has grown a lot again in England’s absence, now sporting gangly limbs and the leaner frame of a boy just breaching adolescence. Despite all that he remains childish, which England is immensely grateful for; if he could he would keep him young forever, leave him to frolic and play and never face the cruelties of the world.

“England…?” America’s voice is muffled, scared. England worries that he’d woken him.

He kisses the bowed crown of golden hair. “I’m right here, my dear, go back to sleep.”

America makes a sound of protest, burrowing his nose into England’s shoulder. A hot puff of breath seeps through cloth to reach skin.“You’re… not going away?”

“It’s barely daybreak, I’m not inclined to leave bed so soon,” England whispers.

“Mmn, promise?”

England smiles. “I promise.”

“Okay… I-I… It feels… really weird today…”

Green eyes snap open, awake and attuned to what could possibly be ailing his precious colony. England means to ask but then America moves, pressing against his hip, whimpering. He does it again. Pinching himself changes nothing; England is still tangled in bed with his sweet America aimlessly grinding his stiff prick against him.

“A-America,” England rasps, ashamed of how dry his throat has become.

“Nn, England…” America moans, straddling England's leg sideways in a bid for more contact.

His whole body shivers as damp cloth impresses the swell of America's arousal on his skin, the uneven pace of the boy’s thrusting stutters when flesh meets heated flesh. England feels his own cock stirring and it finally gets him to act. He grabs America by the waist, taking care not to use too much force as to bruise that fair skin. His free hand caresses the flushed cheeks, coaxing the younger nation into wakefulness.

“America… America, open your eyes.”

America blearily blinks, wet lashes separating as he peers up. “E-England...”

“It’s alright, lad, I’m here. No need to--”

“ _Ah!_ ” The slightest shift has America’s sensitive cock sliding against strong legs. His round face flushes darkly, realizing their situation, eyes big and bluer than the skies and seas combined.

England is quick to hold him firm. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he says quickly, keeping his voice even and calm despite his thundering heart.

Usually, America is quick to agree with him, guileless and trusting. But now he searches England’s face before responding. “It hurts, England,” he moans. “It feels weird… and hot.” America cants his legs just a little, exposing his ass while his cock presses over the jut of England’s hip. He thinks maybe England could help if he sees, but all coherent thought leaves him when his knee bumps into something stiff and searing. It gets England hissing, his eyes screwed shut as his Adam’s apple bobs down his neck. America stares, mesmerized. He lifts a hand to England’s cheek, cupping it much like how England was holding him when he woke. England is solid and warm, his beautiful eyes open a fraction at his touch, glittering despite the darkness.

“You’re here,” America whispers. “You’re really here.”

“Wha… What do you mean?” England struggles to get the question out, more preoccupied with reigning back desires he’d never even entertained until five minutes ago.

“You’re usually gone when I wake up,” America says, simple as if stating a fact but his breathing has noticeably gone heavier. “When I dream of us like this… I start feeling weird down there, but then you’d help me. With this hand here,” he takes England’s right, moving it from his waist to his thigh. “You make the bad feelings go away.”

Bad… feelings.

England spreads his hand, gripping America securely just under the buttocks, not trusting himself to speak.

This is tremendously bad.

“It hurts less and starts feeling good. But then… then it gets too good,” America gasps. “And when it gets unbearable you just… disappear.” He sniffs, something desperate in the way he looks at England now, a fervent plea in the way he’s gripping the older nation’s nightshirt.

England wets his lips. “Ah - A-And how long have you been having these, er, dreams…” He is woefully unprepared for this conversation.

“A while. But lately it’s not just when I sleep anymore… When I think of England, I…”  

“Say no more, my dear,” England cuts in, red to the tip of his ears. “I’ll help you now, alright?”

“You will?”

“But of course, I’ll teach you the best way so that you can be stronger.”

“Stronger!”

“Yes, and you’ll be able to, er, take care of trouble when it… arises.”

 

“Hah -- nnnhah -- England… hnn…”

“Too fast? Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“Nnngh! I - I think I’m… almost…”

“Ah, then here--”

“Nngah! Ahh nn! Eng--”

“Is where you should be concentrating. Grip it tight, now.”

“I… iah! I want you…”

“Yes?”

“Your hand… Eng- ngah -- England… Touch…”

He kisses the sweat-sheened temple, covering the trembling fingers and squeezing the flushed member encased in both their hands now. America bucks into their combined grip, his spine arched like a hunter’s bow, baring all for England to see. To verify, of course, that he’s taking to his lessons well.

America comes, spilling his seed on his stomach, panting against England’s neck. His appendages have gone lax following his release but England jerks him off until he’s got everything out. He lays boneless in England’s arms, feeling lips along his hairline.

“Well done, America…”

His name has never sounded sweeter. America purrs, nuzzling into England’s chest, breathing deeply, content.

“You’d do best to remember what I taught you now…”

“Mmn.”

“Rest now, love, I’ll clean you up in a moment.”

America wants to protest. He can feel England’s cock against his ass, thick and throbbing from having America on his lap but the older nation would not allow him to touch. America wants to return the favor somehow. England made him feel so heavenly…


	2. DAY 4 : Begging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention I'm doing Kinktober as art and fic so Days 2 and 3 are on my tumblr [here](http://hopaiskalos.tumblr.com/post/166043501563)  
> I'll only be posting fic fills here C:

America grew up spoiled as many a nation had told him so over the years, some wistful but mostly snide. America never wanted for his lands were rich and the Great British Empire only gave him more. He refined him as to be on par with the rest of the world. America was tutored with the ideologies of the great thinkers, wooed by the emotional overtures of the romantics, dressed to impress and stuffed with promise.

And what did he do with all those gifts?

He took and twisted and threw them back in England’s face.

A trivial tantrum, he just needs a little re-education.

“Isn’t that right, you ignorant slut?” England’s accent is thick, tongue burnished with alcohol. He jerks America’s head back, baring the column of his neck, mottled with bites and bruises.

“Where’s your manners boy?” He growls, plunging his fingers deep and twisting them to pull out a wretched cry. “You answer promptly when you’re asked a question!”

“Ye-Yes, England!” America cries out.

“Yes, _sir!_ ”

“ _Yes, sir!_ ”

“Hmph!”

America’s head hangs low between his shoulders once England releases the vice grip on his hair. He raises his ass higher, clenching around slick and thick digits. “Fuck me, England, fucking do it!”

A harsh, wheezing laugh fires off. “I think I’m just about done giving you what you want.” England titters. “I gave you everything, raised you with _love_ an-and fucking devotion!” He crooks his fingers. “Do you think I like seeing you like this?!”

“Yes!” America keens bracing himself with both arms on the floor, heavy cock spurting thick cum. “England… ah… want you…”

“Greedy little bugger. Your arse is just asking to be filled, innit?” He spreads out his fingers, stretching the loosened ring of sphincter muscles but not yet pulling out.

“Please… _please…_ ”

When America begs like that, a deep-seated instinct within him just can’t refuse. It was smart to have the boy on his knees, God knows he’s a total goner against those baby blue eyes, those rose-pink lips.

“Oh my sweet America,” England laments, withdrawing his hand. “Who do you think will care for you now?”


	3. DAY 5 : Body Swap

All it takes is a blink.

One second he’s grumbling, ignoring the pile of books in the corner for his portable game console, when his hand spasms -- a quick jolt of electricity that runs up his arm and down the length of his spine. Next thing he knows he’s on a cool bed, clean sheets, with _something_ up his ass.

This… isn’t exactly how Alfred pictured meeting his soulmate.

* * *

There are many ways to meet a soulmate in this world. Some people only see black and white until their fateful encounter (like his best friend Matthew and that patissier he met on a holiday trip in France). Others get temporary tattoos on their skin, mimicking writings on their soulmate’s body (Toris was thought to be cheating on an exam when a teacher saw his marks, turns out it was just his soulmate’s vlog handle). Alfred was so amazed, he wore his email on his arm for an entire week, reapplying marker ink when he thought it was fading but he never got a response. Even Ivan has a god damned clock on his wrist; he's had it since he was a baby and he wouldn't stop flaunting it in Alfred's face just to brag. \

Soulmates usually manifest at the cusp of puberty and Alfred is already teetering off the edge of that. If asked, Alfred would laugh and say, he’ll be fine if he doesn’t have one. Plenty of people don’t and they do go on to live happy lives but it’s just… Alfred feels like he _does_ have one. His soulmate is out there and he's saving himself for them as cheesy as it sounds. He feels it in his gut.

 

Right now, though, there’s an entirely different feeling in his gut. Alfred would panic, surely that’s what any sane man would do given his situation, but instead he’s… he’s hot… aroused. His cock… well, his soulmate’s cock is standing stiff. He’s got one hand wrapped around it but he’s too scared to move. He tries to calm down but every breath fills his lungs with a musky masculine scent, goading him to indulge what’s right in front of him. Alfred can’t think, there’s so many details to take in in such a brief period, so he lets his body make the decision for him. He has never had a dildo up his ass before but it feels fucking great -- it’s not too thick and there’s plenty of lube to ease it in and out. In and out, despite the lack of _actual_ experience he _has_ watched enough porn to know how this goes. Alfred moans and it comes out in an entirely different timbre, hearing it makes cum spurt out and he grips the foreign cock tighter, jerking motions turning rough as he brings him -- them -- to orgasm.

 

He lies awake in the afterglow, overloaded brain trying to process what just happened. Alfred brings a cum-stained hand to his face, rubbing the viscous seed between his fingertips, scrutinizing. It’s real. Just like how the raw feeling in his ass is real. He pulls out the toy and is amused at the bright blue color (his favorite). Once he gets off the high and he’s confident that his legs won’t collapse under him, Alfred scoots out of bed and picks up a pair of loose boxers from the floor.

There’s no one else in the house (to his immense relief) and he finds the kitchen with little trouble. The refrigerator has a built in water dispenser and he gladly makes use of it. There is also a grocery list stuck via magnet on the sleek silver surface. Alfred takes the pencil from it’s perch above the notepad and leaves his own message.

A rumbling sound makes him look around, unsure if that was his stomach or -- oh. Alfred moves closer to the window. It’s raining. Big fat drops splatter against the window pane. There's a busy street with neon signages against the darkness of the night. Seeing the wet outside world makes him shiver. Alfred thinks about grabbing a jacket when a face in the window catches his eyes. It blinks when he does, frowns and grins when he does, and it furrows those funny thick eyebrows when Alfred peers to get a closer look.

Lightning flashes and Alfred is back in his own body. He rubs at his eyes and knocks his glasses askew. Damn it, he already forgot about those.

Outside, the sun is just setting, relieving his room of the summer’s dry heat. Taking a closer look at his surroundings makes him realize he's at his study desk. The readings he'd been ignoring are propped open with a sheet of notepaper containing an outline for the report he's supposed to be doing.

What the hell. He picks it up but is distracted by a bright yellow sticky note stuck to the desk underneath. More writing in the same penmanship and he reads his name at the top.

 

_My dearest Alfred_ , it begins. Already, he feels himself blushing. _I cannot apologize enough for the situation you must've found yourself during our Switch._

A Switch! So that's what it's called, Alfred thinks giddy. He has only ever seen it in movies, it's supposed to be a very rare soul bond. The rarest, even! (Ha! Fuck you and your stupid clock, Ivan!)

_I'm well past the prime age for meeting soulmates and I never believed in the concept but there's no other explanation to why I'm inhabiting your body and you having mine. If you don't hate what you've seen of me_

(At this, Alfred vividly remembers handling his gorgeous cock, of being filled by his silicone dildo. He banishes those thoughts immediately, ignoring the way his ass clenches on emptiness.)

_I would like to get to know you better._

Alfred internally squeals. Is his soulmate for real? Of course Alfred wants to get to know him better! He's been waiting practically his whole life to meet him!

_Or if you would rather not, I completely understand. I never intended to traumatize you and I am prepared to shoulder all medical expenditures that you would deem necessary._

He then lists his contact details and signs _Arthur Kirkland_.

“Arthur…” Alfred whispers the name reverently. His soulmate is Arthur Kirkland.

* * *

_London, England_

 

Arthur hastily shuts the curtains, goosebumps all over his skin that has little to do with the cold. He sees a glass of water on the counter and takes a gulp.

Bloody hell.

He goes to refill his drink when he notices the new note on his fridge.

 

_Hey soulmate! I hope you don't mind me playing with your toys a little ;) I'm Alfred F. Jones and I've been waiting to meet you forever! Add me on Facebook!_

 

Arthur stares at the note, speechless.


	4. DAY 6 : Telepathic Bond

It starts with a(nother) spell gone wrong, following a row that left them both in vile moods. America is just too thick-headed, inconsiderate of his feelings. He never listens anymore. England just wants him to _understand_.

As America stalks off, England whips out his wand and casts his magic. The surge of power leaves his fingers tingling but America keeps walking away none-the-wiser. Let him, England thinks viciously, he'll suffer the consequences soon enough.

 

The World Conference resumes after lunch and it's England's turn to present the United Kingdom’s latest trade policies. Every eye in the room is on him, including America’s. Good.

“A pleasant afternoon to all,” England begins. “I expect your rapt attention on this seeing as we've just finished our grand luncheon.”

“You mean our _bland_ luncheon,” America quips.

England turns to glare at him but America maintains a bored expression. He does, however, frown deeply when he catches England's glare.

“England?”

He startles at Germany's voice.

“Yes?” England snaps, annoyed at being distracted when he was about to tell America off. The rest of the nations are staring at him. Why are they looking at _him_ like that? Didn't they hear America's blasted comment just now? Normally, France would be the first to join when America mocks him but he's got a fist against his mouth at the moment, suffusing a laugh.

Germany, on the other hand, looks serious. “You may begin your presentation.”

“So I will.” England grips the pointer and advances to his first slide.

“This is so unfair!” America whines. “He's fucking hot when he's mad.”

It makes England stutter in the midst of reading out the presentation’s heading. “ _Excuse me?_ ” he cries, making a swift about-face to where America is seated. The nation leans away, startled.

“I didn't say anything,” he says, defensive.

“I _heard_ you--!”

“Did you hear me say a word?” America turns to the nation beside him.

Ukraine, surprised at being put on the spotlight, quickly says “I didn't hear anything.”

England _heard_ it, though. “You… didn't?”

Ukraine shakes her head.

“Just get back to your Very Important Presentation,” America says, emphasizing the last three words with contempt.

Then, without opening his mouth, America's voice adds. “Since you obviously care more about it than me.”

England’s jaw drops, putting the puzzle together: he's hearing America's thoughts. Shite. The spell must have backfired. He's getting rusty at this damn it all but he can't exactly whip out his wand and fix it right now. It would have to wait until after the conference. Resigned, England clears his throat and quickly resumes.

Being privy to America's thoughts distracts England from his work. It annoys and amuses him in an almost equal amount.

When America asks an off-tangent question, it's almost always accompanied by a thought of how England hasn't looked at him in five minutes. When he makes a jab at the trade deficit, it comes with an underlying innuendo of how he can help _stimulate_ the economy. And then there's random thoughts on how England's slacks fail in emphasizing his ass, how America can't stop staring at his hand gripping the pointer wishing they were wrapped around something else. It's like tuning in to Dick-for-brains FM on the radio, worse is that he can't turn it off.

It occurs to England that these thoughts are why America never seems to take world conferences seriously. Not once has he heard anything remotely related to the current discussion cross the younger nation’s mind. He would be flattered but hearing _where_ America would rather sit makes him choke on air, once again disrupting his flow.

“Are you okay, England _-san_?” Japan leans forward, concerned.

“F-Fine,” England says. This is going to be a long presentation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'm not too happy with this one.. wasn't feeling the telepathic vibes but i tried so *shrug*


	5. DAY 14 : Incest

Alfred pulls his tshirt off his back, muscles flexing, dog tags clinking as they resettle at the center of his chest. Dark denim hangs low on his hips, exposing the deep groves of his pelvis and the telling bulge at the front.

“Come here.” Arthur opens his palm, drawing Alfred to him with the hand he puts in. The mattress dips with the additional weight. “Have you been good?” he asks, customary.

“And if I wasn't?” Alfred challenges leaning close, blue eyes bright and electrifying. He puts a hand on Arthur's thigh, sliding up slowly as he says “Are you gonna punish me?”

It's just a rebellious phase, their father tells him. He’ll grow out of it, their mother hopes. Just like you did, Arthur. So please, look after your brother.

Oh Arthur is looking after him, all right.

“Only because I love you,” Arthur replies, squeezing Alfred's hand. Alfred squeezes back, his cue for Arthur to continue.

It's like learning to kiss anew every time he does it with Alfred. There's always a hesitation, a bitterness before it turns sweet. That lapse grows shorter and shorter as they grow old but Arthur knows it will never truly fade. Even if Alfred grows bolder now, licking at the seam of his lips, so sure of what he came for.

Arthur gives it to him, no questions. He gives it to him good, until Alfred is a moaning mess pawing desperately at the fly of his trousers. He kisses him deeply, savoring the unsullied taste of his mouth before letting him go.

He wonders how Alfred became so good with his mouth, his hands, an offhand comment as they lay together sticky and spent. Alfred grins up at him, mischievous. “You don't have to worry about them, Artie. They're just practice so I can save the best for you.”

“I don't think I rather like the idea of you ‘practicing’ so much,” Arthur mutters, tucking away strands of Alfred’s bangs from his forehead.

“But you're always so busy these days.” A finger traces over his chest. “I get lonely.”

“And how do you think I feel, hm?” He grips Alfred by the chin, thumb stretching the corner of his mouth. “I don't want anyone else seeing the face you make when you cum. Or hearing you, for that matter. Do you scream their names, too?”

“No, Arthur, never.” Alfred eyes lower to half-masts. “They just can't fuck the way you do.”

“Then stop seeing them.” Arthur chastises, kissing him softly. “Just be with me.”

“Only if you stop holding back.”

Arthur pauses. “Holding back?”

“I'm not stupid,” Alfred pouts, lips glistening invitingly. “I can see it in your eyes, I feel it in the way you touch me.”

“I…” Arthur swallows, feeling a tell-tale shift in the air. “I just don't want to hurt you, Alfred.”

“I know you won't…” Alfred’s hand ghosts over his chest, skimming low until it finally rests upon Arthur’s cock. “So please…”

 

Arthur has always been weak to his brother’s pleas.


	6. DAY 16 : Masks + 17 : Costume

The emcee is prattling about the charity that will benefit from tonight's fundraiser. Fundraiser his ass, company employees are _required_ to attend. Hmph. At least there's an open bar, Arthur thinks, perched on the farthest barstool where no one can disturb him.

For many employees, this is their chance to get noticed by the company president, donating more in hopes that they would get commended and thereby offered a promotion. Arthur has seen it work plenty of times and it honestly pisses him off. What about the hardworking people who've been loyal to the company for years, eh? What about the little guys?

Rumor has it that the president’s son will be taking over the company next year so people are being a tad more generous than usual, trying to get in his good graces in advance.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Arthur turns to where the voice came from, needing to look up to meet a familiar blue-eyed gaze. “You again.”

“Me again,” he sounds giddy.

“And what are you supposed to be?”

The guy puffs out his chest. “A hero, of course!”

Arthur snorts. “That's what you were last year.” He catches the barista's attention and gestures for two beers. The event is just midway through but the important speeches have all been delivered so the drinks are flowing freely all around. It's usually around this time that his mysterious acquaintance shows up and Arthur is not disappointed.

“Last year I was Batman,” the guy reminds him. “This year I’m--”

“Circus-Batman?” Arthur guesses, just to rile him up.

“No!!!” Ex-Batman cries. He looks honestly put off and it's adorable. “I thought you were Sherlock or something? How could you _not_ recognize Captain America?!”

“I'm the Wizard of Oz now.” Arthur shrugs, gesturing to his all-green attire. He catches the drinks that the barista slides their way.

“Really? Looks more like a leprechaun -- Hey! I was supposed to get _you_ a drink!”

“Cheers, love.” Arthur tips his hat to him and drinks, leaving the younger man to follow.

At least, Arthur _assumes_ he’s younger.

See, he doesn't really know the guy except for his wacky get-ups at the company's annual fundraiser-slash-costume party. That, and the way he falls apart when he cums. Arthur did try to find him afterwards, to get to know the man beyond their one-night-stands, but he never shows up at the office. He concludes that he must be from some far off branch or a sister company or the like.

“Ugh, too strong,” Captain America complains, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand.

Arthur frowns. “Then you shouldn't have forced yourself to finish the entire bottle.”

“A hero never backs down!” America declares. (Arthur thinks it's a mouthful saying his character’s full title and he doubts the man beneath the mask would actually have a military ranking anyway.) “Also I'm serious about getting you that drink.” He flags down the barista. “Hey barman! Two fizzy juices, please!”

“ _Fizzy juice?!_ ”

“I got put on a diet so I'm not allowed to drink too much beer,” America tells him, apologetic. “And since you're with me, you have to drink it, too!”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine.”

 

“ _Fuck… Oh fuck… That's -- right there, keep -- fmph!”_

Arthur kisses him to shut him up, tasting sweet residue as their tongues entwine. He drives his cock deep, the slap of his hips loud, meeting the curve of that perfect ass. The passage grows tighter, squeezing almost painfully, but Arthur keeps his rhythm, thrusting until he takes him over the edge.

Figuratively.

America's suite has a king-sized bed for some reason. Arthur thinks to question it but then America pulls him down and things immediately get heady.

Semen splatters between their stomachs, pungent and plentiful. America gasps and moans as Arthur fucks him through the high. He kisses him more gently now, unlatching the legs wrapped around his waist and massaging the tremors away.

“Mmm… Hey Mr. Wizard…” America murmurs, nosing against Arthur's cheek. “Did you cum yet?”

“In good time,” Arthur tells him, unable to resist kissing him one more time. He pulls back slowly, hands squeezing America’s thighs before bracketing his waist. “I love seeing you like this.” Green eyes watch with glee as the rounded softness of America’s stomach bulges through his fingers. (It makes him think of a donut glazed with cum.)

“Stop that…” America protests, weak and self-conscious. “’M fat…”

“You're perfect, America.” Arthur pulls at his slight flab, teasing.

A squeak, followed by pink flush that covers America all the way down to his shoulders. “T-That's _Captain_ America…”

“Yes, of course,” Arthur agrees amiably, holding him steady now. “Mind if I pull out?”

“Okay.”

Arthur misses the packed heat of him soon as he's free. He ties off the condom and tosses it in the trash, his prick still erect when he comes back to bed.

“D’you need help with that?” America eyes his cock unabashedly.

Arthur smirks, sliding up beside him. “Depends on your offer, _Captain_.” America is bigger than him in every sense, Arthur fits like a puzzle in his big arms. The other man could easily manhandle him whichever way but America (for all the intensity in is stares and kisses) draws him close ever so carefully.

“I want to suck you off,” America mumbles. His voice goes even quieter when he adds, “Then I want you to cum on my face.”

Arthur’s breath hitches, staring in total disbelief. Tentatively, he touches America's cheek. “And ruin this perfectly good mask?” It's made of quality material, as far as Arthur can tell. Was it weird fucking the guy while he was wearing a mask the whole time? Yes, but America makes up for it with the rest of his body. And now…

“Then we’ll take it off.”

“Are you sure?”

America nods, taking Arthur's hand and guiding it to his nape. “There's a zip around there, if you could just…” He bows his head to make it easier.

Arthur's hands shake a little as he peels off the latex, revealing honey blond hair that's soft (if a little damp) to touch. America shakes his head and looks up, big blue eyes framed by long lashes, freckles sprinkled on his nose. Arthur is more than a little awestruck.

“Thanks,” America smiles, a little nervous. He takes the mask from Arthur’s hand and sets it aside. Noticing those green eyes still on him bolsters his confidence. “Don't take your eyes off me now, m‘kay?”

 _As if I could_ , Arthur thinks, peeved, but the emotion easily gives way to lust once America takes him into his mouth. Flushed cheeks are stretched around his girth, wet-hot and inviting him to just shove it all in but Arthur can hardly move, thoroughly entranced with this new revelation. America is stunning in the low light, puckered lips worshipping his cock. He sucks and slurps, moaning for all he's worth; the low vibrations speed up the mounting release. Arthur bucks up when America squeezes his member, precum dribbling messily over his fingers and chin as his mouth works up the veined shaft. With nowhere to place his hands, Arthur pulls on his own hair. Seeing that reaction gets America stroking him faster, tongue lolling out as he holds Arthur's gaze. Spurts of semen catch on his tongue. Arthur loses it with a broken cry, spilling ribbons of his seed across the handsome face.

America squints when a drop lands a tad too close to his eye. He wipes it away with a finger, swiping all the way down to his cheek then curving up to stick the digit into his mouth. “You're delicious, you know…” He looks up at Arthur, smiling coy. “And your dick is still hard even after you've cum… Amazing!”

“ _You're_ amazing,” Arthur manages to say, committing the beautifully debauched sight of him to memory.

America blushes, a pleased smile revealing dimples on his cheeks, lashes lowering as he looks away.

 _By god, he really is perfect_. And before Arthur could stop himself, he's sitting up and pulling America into another kiss, sinking his fingers into fine golden hair, smearing his cum over both their faces.

America laughs as they part, foreheads pressed together. “You wanna go another round?”

“Mm.” Arthur pretends to think, nipping at kiss-swollen lips and bringing out another giggle. “I could go all night.”

 

Months later, Arthur still has plenty of jerk-off fodder from that night alone. They've taken a major step, revealing each other's faces. Maybe next time Arthur will finally have the guts to ask his name.

A sharp rap on wood makes Arthur look up. He bites back his usual snark when he sees who's at the door. “Bonnefoy.”

“Arthur~” Francis saunters in, smiling wide. “How are you settling in?”

“Fine, thank you.” Arthur clasps his hands together. The previous head of his division had retired a week ago and Arthur was chosen to take his place. It's the promotion he'd always wanted, the one that should have been his years ago if not for deep-pocket tossers like Francis whose _generosity_ paved the way to a managerial position. Still, being the newest appointee means he has to be civil with his _peers_ , much as he hates it.

“Prickly as ever, I see,” Francis says loftily. “You should really work on that permanent frown of yours. Underlings appreciate a comely appearance in their bosses, you know.”

“Duly noted.”

Francis tsks but leaves the topic for another day. “I came to fetch you because the CEO called for a meeting.”

“I haven't received any email.”

“You should have gotten one, unless…” Francis scratches at the stubble on his chin. “I.T. hasn't added you to the Managers’ Group yet.”

Arthur bristles. “I'll follow up on that.”

“ _Magnifique!_ ” Francis claps his hands together. “Now let's go! It's lucky that I came to fetch you, or else you would have missed the big announcement.”

“What announcement?”

“The CEO’s son is finally onboarded, I hear.”

 

They're the last ones to arrive in the meeting room. A slide presentation has just finished and dim lights turning bright.

“And with that,” the booming voice of the CEO precedes him. He stands up and gestures to someone at the corner to come up. “I want you all to welcome my son, Alfred F. Jones.”

A young man steps out to polite applause. Honey gold hair shines with something like a halo under the lights, eyes blue as the sky framed by smart-looking glasses. He's got a winning smile and a fitted suit, showing off his packed physique.

Arthur’s blood runs hot then cold.

“Please, just call me Alfred,” says the face starring nightly in Arthur's wet dreams. He makes strong eye contact with every person in the room. “It's a pleasure to be here and I look forward to working with all of… you.” His smile falters just a little, gaze locked in on Arthur.


	7. DAY 24 : Exhibitionism/Voyeurism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I just googled everything and this is probably the least accurate thing ever, so please do not attempt anything featured in this fill

Alfred took the job because it paid upfront and he really needed to make his rent this month. Besides, window cleaning is a lot more exciting than it sounds. At least, he hopes so.

He has already done an assortment of jobs but this will be the first time he’ll be twelve stories up in the air while doing one. His expansive trade knowledge is much appreciated. They give him a thorough briefing before letting him go up with all his tools in tow.

Three hours into it and Alfred is magnanimously bored. The thrill of being up in the air is quick to wear off and the sun is growing hotter by the hour with little wind to cool him. It's all offices with people wasting away on their desks, plugged in with headphones that they don't even care about the guy hanging outside their windows. What a bummer. He takes his lunch after clearing one side of the building, there's another guy from the company with him but he's still working when Alfred checked to see if he wanted to eat together. Not very friendly, that guy.

With the afternoon heat beating down his back, Alfred decides to strip off the top-half of the standard uniform loaned to him. He is immediately refreshed. He ties the sleeves around his waist and secures the leather straps around himself before getting back on his boatswain’s chair. It’s pretty nifty, makes him think of a carnival ride. Alfred starts with the ground-level windows this time, working his way up as the sun moves towards the horizon. It's late in the afternoon when he reaches the top floor and he does a double-take to make sure he's not seeing some weird (and kinky) mirage.

Alfred takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes but the view doesn't change. He recognizes the woman, she was doing paperwork when he cleaned the east side windows this morning. But now… Alfred gulps… She's bent over her desk and there's a too-familiar man fucking her from behind.

Alfred knows this man. Far too intimately than he would care to admit. He's been watching him through computer screens since he was a horny, pimply teenager with too much hormones and not enough social skills. He'd grown out of those unflattering attributes but he’ll never forget the face -- and the body -- that spurred his sexual awakening.

Arthur Cocklane.

Alfred hasn't seen new material of him in years, ever since there were rumors of a dispute with his previous studio. It's a shame because he was a real fan favorite -- with that body, those eyes, and that accent? It's hard not to, well, _get hard_ for the guy. Arthur was versatile -- top, bottom, men, women, groups, you name it -- on top of being very, very sexy. Alfred thought maybe he'd just moved to a different studio, with that talent (and those creds and that _ass!_ ) it should have been easy to get another contract but he never showed up in another video ever again. Arthur Cocklane disappeared from the seedy interwebs and all that remained were the vivid fantasies in Alfred's head. (Plus the uncensored AVs hidden in the very depths of his hard drive.)

Now, though… Alfred’s mouth might just be watering.

Arthur is gorgeous as ever. He's wearing (or, half-wearing) a jet-black suit, the top buttons of his shirt are undone and his green tie is a little loose. His fly is open and his hips are moving in a steady rhythm, driving his cock into the woman's ass.

And she's loving it. Star-shaped pins hold her hair in place as she throws her head back, breasts spilling out of her unbuttoned shirt. Her red lace panties are on the floor, blue skirt hitched up to reveal smooth buttocks. Arthur slaps her butt cheek as if he was in tune to Alfred's thoughts but that's impossible. The glass between them is thick and he can't even hear them despite seeing the lady’s mouth open wide, crying out in pleasure.

How… How is he supposed to work like this?! There's a goddamned porn show right in front of his eyes.

Alfred adjusts himself inside his loose pants. They're not so loose anymore given the situation and Alfred just can't look away. Why isn't he looking away? This… This is illegal isn't it? Watching people have sex without their permission. Alfred can admit to his perversions but violating people's privacy isn't one of them.

Taking a steadying breath, Alfred resolves to ignore the scene, but just before he looks away… Arthur looks straight at him.

Alfred is stunned. Terrified. But mostly he’s hard as all fuck. Arthur raises a brow and Alfred works his jaw but no words come out; and even if he _had_ the words there's no way Arthur can hear him. Panicking, Alfred attempts to make some pacifying gesture but when he puts his hands up, there's a squeegee clutched in one and a water hose in the other. Running water splashes onto his lap, wetting his crotch as he scrambles to shut it off. Heat simmers off his reddened cheeks in embarrassment. There's no way to hide the bulge now that his pants are stuck to him like a second skin. The leather straps holding him secure are wrapped around his thighs and his torso, practically framing his hard-on. Alfred could just about die from embarrassment. But if there's one last thing he wants to see before he goes, it's --

Arthur's cock.

Alfred feels his soul leave his body, blown away by the high winds. Arthur is staring at him, _smirking_. A thin condom covers his cock but Alfred has seen him naked plenty of times before to imagine what's obscured. Arthur strokes his cock from the top down, mouth moving as he says something to the woman but his eyes are fixed on Alfred. He's giving him a show and fuck it all if Alfred isn't going to take him up on that.

All of a sudden he's a teenager again, fumbling with his pants just enough to let his cock out. Not to be modest but Alfred knows he's _big_ , Arthur seems to approve with the way he licks his lips. Keeping a tight hand on the harness, Alfred jerks himself off as Arthur resumes fucking the woman on the desk. He could almost hear her screams but the rush of his own blood rings louder in his ears.

His cum splatters on the window, a tremor running through his whole body as realization settles on what he has done. Inside, Arthur and the woman are dressing up. She picks up her lingerie from the floor but instead of putting it on, she slips it inside Arthur's suit pocket, kissing his cheek. Alfred tries to cover up before she sees him but his free hand is sticky and he doesn't trust himself to balance without holding onto the suspension line. Luckily, Arthur seems well aware of his predicament and steers the woman towards the door, presumably towards a bathroom where she can clean up properly. Just before they disappear, Alfred could swear he saw Arthur Cocklane wink at him.

 

Alfred is still in a daze come nightfall. He finished the job and made sure that one panel was extra squeaky clean. He’s in line at the burger joint across the street, needing something sufficiently greasy to overcome the odd taste in his mouth. That… was fucking surreal. He can't even tell his friends about it because, well, who would believe him? Alfred can hardly believe it himself but his still slightly damp pants are an undeniable fact. He's trying to make out the menu above the counter when he hears an unmistakable voice.

“No, it's my day off tomorrow, find someone else for the job… I don't care, you wino, I'm well above my quota so you best get out of my face… Try Antonio. He just got back from that Mediterranean beach vacation. He won't mind getting a little wet. Besides, he's downright delectable with that tan.”

Alfred turns like a rusty automaton, wide eyes zeroing in on the gruff Brit standing in the line next to him. He sucks in a breath and it must've been loud enough to be distracting for sharp green eyes to snap in his direction.

Arthur's brows raise, eyes widening slightly in recognition. He's out of his suit, Alfred notices vaguely, dressed down in a loose sweater and khakis. He looks so different from that man in the top floor office but he has Alfred's heart pounding all the same. “Talk to you later, Francis,” he mutters. Alfred's eyes are immediately drawn to his lips.

“Ah… Ha… Um…” Alfred knows he better say something. He should probably apologize for what happened at the building, say he didn't mean to watch him and his girlfriend fuck. But he doesn't really want his first words to the guy to be an apology. He's been such a big fan for so long, it's like a (wet) dream come true meeting him in person. Alfred hears the alarm bells ringing, calling mayday at his frizzled brain, and he says, shouts

“I-I'm your biggest fuck!”

The restaurant goes silent. A mother covers her son’s ears, scandalized. A pair of teenage girls about to head out are halted, a half-bitten fry dropping from the taller one’s mouth. The guy behind Alfred who had been playing on his phone with the loudspeaker on is frozen, leaving his character to be demolished and declared “K.O.!”

For the second time that day, Alfred feels like he could die from embarrassment. “Fan!” He corrects belatedly, loudly, oh-so guiltily. “Your biggest… fan.”

Arthur blinks at him.

Alfred expects him to walk away, to ignore him and save face, maybe call on the guard to escort Alfred out for causing a scene. Whatever it is, Alfred is sure he can never show his face here again.

Then Arthur bursts out laughing. Clutching his stomach and tears in his eyes laughing.

That seems to break the spell and the restaurant resumes operations, though its patrons are staring openly at the two.

Arthur snickers when he laughs, shoulders hitched up and shaking, his brows meeting down the middle of his forehead. Oddly, enough, Alfred doesn't feel mocked.

“You there…” Arthur says, finally able to regain speech.

Alfred holds in a breath. “Me?”

“Who else?” Arthur grins. “C’mere.”

Alfred ducks his head and excuses himself from the line. Standing next to Arthur draws an electric current up his spine. “What's your name?”

“Alfred.”

“Well, Alfred,” Arthur looks up at him.

He realizes only now that Arthur is shorter than him. Only by a few measly inches, but the power in his gaze leaves Alfred unable to look away. Not that he'd want to. Arthur's eyes (his face, his entirety) is mesmerizing.

“You sure know how to create a first impression.”

The way Arthur's voice goes low; the flick of his eyes down to where Alfred has a jacket tied around his waist knowing exactly what it's trying to hide; that curling grin at the corner of his lips. They're driving Alfred crazy. “I’m really sorry,” he squeaks.

“What for?” Arthur shuffles forward as the line advances, Alfred invisibly tethered to his every step. “I imagine I'm the one who owes you an apology. It was terribly unprofessional of me to pull a bystander into a scene.”

Alfred swallows. “I didn't mean to… you know. You were with your girlfriend and I--” A hand comes up to his mouth with Arthur frowning beyond it.

“Client, not girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“And she certainly won't mind a little extra authenticity in the performance.”

“She knew?!” Alfred is mortified. If she reports it to the cleaning company he'll be fired for sure.

“No, but the job order was for a naughty secretary being punished by their CEO boss. Hence the top office with full length windows overlooking the city. You've washed those windows wonderfully, lad.”

“It's my first day on the job,” Alfred admits, sheepish.

“Next!”

Arthur’s response is belayed when they’re called to the counter. He places his order and gets Alfred's as well.

“You really didn't have to pay for my food, Mr. Cocklane,” Alfred says, squeezed into one side of a tiny booth, surrounded by chattering diners.

“ _Cocklane_?” Arthur cocks a brow, amused. “I haven't used that name in years.”

Alfred clamps his mouth shut, feeling rather stupid. Of course he wouldn't be using his real name given his line of work. Suddenly, there's a card hovering in front of his face.

“Call me Arthur.”

It's a calling card.

 **Arthur Kirkland**  
_Professional Escort  
_ _Mint Bunny Services_

There's a phone number and an address underneath.

“No website?” Alfred blurts out. He was kind of hoping to find him online again.

“The owner prefers to be discreet.” Arthur sips his drink. “So, Alfred, tell me about yourself.”

Wide eyes blink behind framed glasses. “I… I'm nothing interesting,” he says.

“You pulled out your cock while suspended from the top of a building, orgasming as you watched me have sex with someone you presumed to be my girlfriend.” Arthur relays all that with a straight face, low enough for only the two of them to hear but it only made it sound all the more lewd. Alfred is beet red in the face of Arthur's smirk. “I think you're plenty interesting.”

So Alfred tells him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U know how ur pornstar name is supposed to be your pet’s name + the street you grew up on… There's a [Cock Lane](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cock_Lane) street in London :d
> 
> More on this come Day 31 so just hold tight y'all~


	8. DAY 31 : Any combo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation of Day 24's window cleaner Alfred and escort Arthur.. mostly the escort part tho  
> Kinks are: Sex Work, Role Reversal, Polyamory  
> it's 4.4k+ words of smutty smut-ish vignettes

Arthur insists on meeting up the next day and Alfred agrees, more out of shock than anything, to show up at the strip mall after work.

His job today involves cleaning another office building’s windows. It's smaller and mostly made of brick than glass. Aside from making friends with his assigned partner this time around, there wasn't much excitement to compare with yesterday.

Alfred catches Alice at their apartment when he goes in for a shower before meeting Arthur.

“You're early today,” Alice muses. “What do you want for dinner?”

“‘M not staying for dinner,” Alfred shouts, the open bathroom door carrying his words out. “I'm meeting with someone.”

“Is it a date?” Alice asks, pulling leftovers from the fridge. Dinner for one it is.

“Nah, just… Oh my god!”

“What? Are you okay?”

Alfred steps out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist and his glasses on. “I have nothing to wear!”

“We just did the laundry this weekend. I'm sure there's--”

“No, no, no! You don't get it!” Alfred strides into the kitchen, stopping in front of her. “I'm meeting someone important! I… I need to look, well, _good_.”

Alice raises a brow, scrutinizing him from the foot up. “Alfred, you've got my panties wet just standing there. You already look _good_.”

Charmed, Alfred leans down to kiss her. “Why is it that you always know the right words to say?”

“I'm a librarian,” Alice smirks, pecking his lips once more before placing a hand on his chest to push him back. “So before we get distracted, you need to put some clothes on.”

“I don't know what to weaaar.” Alfred pouts.

“Then I'll help you, come.” Alice leads him to their bedroom, throwing open the closet doors. “Who's this someone important you're meeting? Acquaintance? Date? Possible one night stand?”

“A-Acquaintance?” Alfred hazards.

“You're not sure?” Alice puts her hands on her hips.

“I… He…”

“Alfred, dear, you're blushing. Just tell me if you want to bed them so I can find the right clothes to get them hot for you.”

“It's Arthur Cocklane.”

Alice goes silent. Then she adjusts her glasses. “The porn star?”

“ _Yes_.”

“How…?”

Alfred ducks his head. “It's a long story. A weird story.”

Alice considers him for a full minute before turning back to their closet. “Then you're definitely going for a fuck tonight.”

“Alice!”

“What?” She smiles, mischievous. “Tell me you don't want to fuck Arthur Cocklane. Or get fucked by him, for that matter.”

“He's a professional,” Alfred says, sullen. “I can't possibly afford his rates.”

“Oh, you'll never know, Al~” Alice singsongs. “You can be straight up irresistible with the right pair of jeans.”

 

“All dressed up, aren't we?” are the first words that greet him. Arthur is looking fine as well (when does he _not?)_ , dressed in a dark button up and skinny jeans. He folds up his shades and tucks them into his breastpocket.

“Do you usually wear shades at night?” Alfred wonders aloud.

“Only when I'm trying to avoid being recognized by fans,” Arthur replies, cheeky.

“I'm super sorry about yesterday!”

“And I've told you it's fine. Nice to know my work is well-appreciated.”

“My, uh, girlfriend is a big fan of yours, too,” Alfred admits. “I kind of name dropped you, well, your old name, and she insisted that I wear something nice.”

“Alice, right? Well, she's got quite an eye,” Arthur says, approving. “Shall we?”

“Uh, where?”

Arthur slows his pace. “Well, I do owe you a pair of pants to replace the one that got ruined yesterday…”

“It wasn't that bad,” Alfred says. At most, the color is going to get a little faded with the wash, it certainly doesn't warrant Arthur buying him a new one. When he sees the high-end store Arthur is taking him to, Alfred falters in his steps. “Um, Arthur? You really--”

“Think of it this way,” Arthur interrupts, placating and testy in the same voice. “Your girlfriend will surely appreciate you coming back with better-fitting clothes. Half the fun to be had in the bedroom _is_ in taking them off, you know.” He places his hand on Alfred’s elbow, light enough that he can pull away but once Alfred nods, his fingers skim down that lean forearm, finally wrapping around his wrist. Arthur smiles, triumphant.

Parading different jeans and slacks in front of Arthur eventually clears off any reservations Alfred might have had. He cocks his hips and turns around to show his backside when Arthur asks, shedding his jacket so they can decide whether low-cut jeans suit him. (They do.) Arthur gets him three pairs, paying for them with gift cards.

“My clients tend to be very generous,” he explains.

“Is that why you're not doing videos anymore?” Alfred asks, unable to curb his curiosity.

Arthur doesn't appear offended. “The pay is certainly better in my current trade. Better benefits, too.”

“What? Like getting a free car?” Alfred jests.

“Well, yes,” Arthur replies, grinning when Alfred goes slack-jawed.

“ _Really?_ ”

“Yes, really. It comes with a chauffeur, too.” Arthur tugs at Alfred's hand to keep him from lagging behind. “But the benefits I'm talking about are more on life and health insurance.”

“I didn't even have those at my last job,” Alfred mutters. But it makes sense that Arthur's company would have extensive coverage like that.

“And how do you find your current employment?”

“Window washing? It's… _not_ as exciting as I thought it would be.”

“Ah.”

“Being up in the air was fun for the first hour or so, but then the heat comes in and the smoke. Ugh. I felt like I'd need two showers just to get smell off but I can't because the water bill would get too high.”

“You smell fine to me,” Arthur says.

“That's the magic of body spray,” Alfred tells him, complete with spirit fingers and it gets Arthur chuckling. He likes Arthur's laugh.

 

By the end of dinner, Arthur makes his offer.

“Alfred, I think you'll be a great fit with Mint Bunny.”

With the flow of their conversation all evening, and the way Arthur has been eyeing him all over, Alfred figured it has to be one or the other. He's… not sure if he's glad it wasn't the other. “You want me to be an escort?”

“You want excitement in your job,” Arthur says. “Your relationship with Alice is open. The pay will be more than sufficient for your rent and other utilities.”

“Well, you’re not _wrong_ but…”

“You don't need to give me your answer right now,” Arthur tells him, sensing the hesitation. “But you've got my card. The number on it is our handler, Francis. You can ask him any questions you might have.”

Alfred nods. Then, spurred on by the alcohol in his system, he asks “Can I… maybe… get _your_ number?”

Arthur sits back, blinking, somehow still caught off-guard despite already expecting the question. Anticipating it, almost; their chemistry is unignorable much as he tried to stay platonic, professional. Alfred is looking at him with those big blue eyes that Arthur could very well drown in.

Alfred bites down on his bottom lip then releases it to show a hopeful smile.

Arthur's gut was definitely right about this man’s potential. But right now a different and more persuasive part of him wants to take action. He leans in and Alfred rises to meet him, magnetized. Arthur's lashes sweep low, leaving but a sliver of green eyes glimmering in the low light. Their lips are just a hair’s breadth away when he whispers, “I can give you something better.”

 

Alfred breaks away from their kiss, panting. “Arthur, wait…” His mind is reeling, one second he remembers dinner and now they're making out in an elevator.

Steady hands brush back his hair. Wet lips  -- lips that were just on his lips, Arthur's lips, kissing him, oh god they were _kissing_ \-- latching on his jaw.

“What is it?”

“I… Oh my god… I don't want to o-offend you or nothing but… _Ah_ .” Arthur's leg slips between his thighs. He had imagined a similar scenario years and years ago: Arthur cornering him, feeling how hard he's got it for him. Arthur had always been bigger than him in those fantasies and he still is now, in a sense. “I can't afford… _nghah_.” A purposeful press against his crotch renders him speechless.

“My dear.” Arthur’s husky voice fills the ensuing lapse. “When you go into this type of work, it would serve you well to keep business and pleasure separate.”

“I… What…?” Alfred's glasses have fogged up, chest heaving until he bumps into Arthur. They're too close, too close. Arthur's breath is hot against the shell of his ear.

“You're not my client, Alfred. _This_ is purely for pleasure.” The hands on his waist squeeze tight. Arthur purrs, “So what do you say?”

“Yes!” Alfred cries. “Oh my god, _yes!”_

“That's what I thought.”

 

They head straight for the bedroom, shedding clothes like snakes and twining together like said reptiles once they fall into bed. Arthur takes his glasses from him and sets them on the night stand. Alfred doesn't need them, anyway, being this close, he could count the hairs on Arthur's prominent brows. He had always found them oddly charming, now he sees that they're trimmed neat and obviously groomed.

There's a tremor in Alfred's hands, exploring Arthur's body with a reverence befitting religious idols. Arthur lets him touch as much as he wants, kissing fingertips as they tiptoe over his lips. “Do you want to lead, Alfred?”

A loud, resounding _Yes_ echoes in his mind but Alfred only manages to convey a meek nod.

“Very well.” Arthur leans down to kiss him, putting his weight on top of Alfred as his domineering posture smooths out, turning pliant and soft around the edges.

It startles him, how quickly Arthur's persona shifts. More than that, however, Alfred is surprised at how much he likes holding Arthur in his arms like this. His mouth opens easily when Alfred licks at the seam, plunging the both of them into a deeper kiss. Arthur's hand cups him through his boxers, coaxing him towards hardness as pleased noises rumble from the back of his throat.

With a strong arm around his waist and a palm cushioning his head, Arthur allows himself to be flipped over. He lays breathless, open, allowing Alfred an unobstructed look at his nakedness. The hunger in those eyes excite him and the promising fullness of his cock has made him eager for this encounter since yesterday. Time to see if the boy knows how to use it.

Alfred thought he already knew every kind of face that Arthur can make. He had always looked so sure, so in control in all those pornos, regardless of whether he was giving or receiving, but this… This is a whole different level. He's looking at Alfred like he's actually seeing him (seeing _through_ him, no more screens or frames or glasses between them.) Unlike those close up cumshots that reflect camera lens, this time those dilated pupils are reflecting Alfred alone. Arthur's words from earlier echo in his head -- this isn't business, it's pleasure -- and he's going to make damn sure Arthur gets it. “Do you want me to take it slow?”

“No need to be careful with me, luv.” Arthur’s hand is on the nape of his neck, thumb brushing over the finer hairs and making Alfred shiver when he says, “I'm all yours.”

And damn if that wasn't exactly what Alfred needed to hear. All these years of fantasizing and now Arthur is actually in bed with him. Alfred doubts he can take things slow. “Okay,” he says, taking a steadying breath. “But tell me if it gets too much and I'll stop.”

“I will,” Arthur promises, drawing him low for a kiss.

 

Alfred wants to kiss him but he doesn't want to silence the heady moans that spill from Arthur's filthy mouth.

“H-Harder..! Please..! I'm almost-- ah!” Arthur cuts off when Alfred pulls up his hips, bending him practically in half as he drives his cock deeper.

“Like that?” Alfred grins, tasting his own sweat where it catches at the bow of his upper lip.

“Fuck-- _yes_ , Alfred, right there!”

Hearing his name gets him stuttering, balls drawn up tight seconds away from spilling his load. _Fuck_. Alfred promised himself he won't come until Arthur is satisfied.

“Don't stop!” Arthur pleads, fingernails raking over Alfred's back. He can't recall ever feeling so full and not just on his backside. Alfred is gorgeous all sexed up like this, long and lean and powerful, nipples perked over defined pecs, and the deep pools he calls eyes swallow Arthur like a storm. “Kiss me.”

No sooner have the words left his mouth, Alfred is there, sucking out the air from his lungs. Arthur arches off his back, burned by those searing lips yet gagging for more. He cums.

Arthur's ass squeezes him tight, pulsing once then locking in and Alfred is cumming. His broken scream lost between their tongues. Viscous semen splatters over his chest, Arthur's cock and balls rutting against his abs. They maintain the erotic tableau as they catch their breaths, until hazy eyes focus and he finds Arthur smiling, sated.

Arthur wraps lethargic arms around Alfred's shoulders, pulling the man down with him as he gingerly settles back on the mattress. Alfred noses behind his ear, lazily kissing the juncture of his neck and jaw, inhaling. Chests pressed close, their hammering hearts fall in sync, soothing frayed nerves with every breath. Arthur is first to regain speech.

“I take it back.”

“Hm?”

“I don't want you at Mint Bunny. You're going to steal all my clients.”

Alfred's face heats up, daring to take a peek. Arthur is watching him with a lazy grin. “Was…” he coughs, swallowing spit to ease the words out his throat. “Was it good for you?”

“Mind-blowing.”

Thrilled, Alfred worms his arms underneath Arthur's waist to hug him

“O-Oi! Be careful!” Arthur cries as he's jostled, hissing when Alfred's cock slips an inch.

“Sorry!” Alfred kisses Arthur's cheek in apology, easing out with greater care. He tosses the condom into the wastebasket and lays atop Arthur again, a bit more to the side this time so he doesn't crush him.

Arthur waits for him to settle; Alfred rests his cheek on his shoulder, with an arm loosely wrapped around his waist. His knuckles graze over the apples of Alfred’s cheeks, earning him a purr. “Tired?”

“I could go again if you let me rest for five minutes.”

“Well-endowed _and_ vigorous.” Both of Arthur’s brows raise towards the fringe of his hair. “I really should take back that offer.”

“I'm honestly considering it, you know.”

“You'll be helping plenty of sexual deviants find peace and fulfillment of their innermost desires,” Arthur declares with a pompous air. “It's a truly rewarding profession.”

“ _Deviants?_ ”

“That's what Francis calls them. Fondly, of course.”

“Exactly _how_ deviant are we talking about here?”

“I once got piss drunk and vomited on a client,” Arthur recalls. “All part of the job. That said, Francis does make sure that we're comfortable with the client’s specifications before each assignment. And he would never force you to take on anything that's beyond your means.”

“You're really… Wow. I don't think I would've taken up that one and I'm game for pretty much anything.” Alfred pauses, biting his bottom lip. “But maybe you can teach me.”

“Teach you?” Arthur repeats, intrigued.

“Mm-hm.” Alfred brings up a hand, tracing around a nipple with his fingernail. “Only if you have time, though. I'd hate to impose.”

“I can make time for you.” Arthur kisses him sweet, nibbling on his lip when Alfred flicks at the nub. Alfred welcomes his tongue, eager, surging up to seal their mouths closed. His cooled body starts warming up again.

“Don't… Don't laugh, okay?” Alfred mumbles between kisses.

“Why would I laugh?” Arthur angles his face so their noses wouldn't collide so much, capturing Alfred's lips once more.

Alfred cups his cheek, stalling the single-minded assault on his mouth. Staring into Arthur's eyes, he confesses, “No one’s ever fucked me in the ass before.” Alfred lets the statement hang in the air for a moment, making sure that Arthur gets the implication before he goes in for another kiss, lingering and slow. “I mean, like a real cock,” he adds, low and secretive, feeling Arthur's member jolt against his thigh. “Alice has her strap-on and we've got… all assortments of plugs and vibes but… I don't think it's gonna be the same… being fucked by a real penis…”

“You've been missing out,” Arthur says, pitying. He takes Alfred's hand from his cheek and kisses it's palm. “And we can't have that, can we?”

“No, sir.”

 

“Enough.”

Alfred makes a sound of protest, but it doesn't go past his throat given that his mouth is full of cock. He doesn't want to stop just yet, can't get enough of Arthur's taste, his texture, his smell. He looks regal watching Alfred from his vantage point -- back against the headboard, legs parted just enough for him to slip in between.

“That will do, Alfred.” Arthur's voice is gravely low but the command in his words ring loud. Much as he'd enjoyed getting blown, he has greater anticipation for what comes next. A string of cum-infused saliva connects Alfred's tongue to the tip of his cock when he finally pulls off. “Got me all ready now, have you?”

It breaks and drips down Alfred's chin when he nods. “Mm-hm.”

“And what about yourself?”

Alfred flicks his wrist, the one arm he has extended behind him folds as he pulls out his fingers from his ass. His digits are slick, rivulets of strawberry-scented lube dripping down the back of his thighs. “I'm good.”

“That you are.” Arthur lifts Alfred's face to him, kissing swollen lips softly. Alfred melts, moans. “Now let me see you.”

Alfred gets on his knees, turning around so he can present himself. It _should_ be embarrassing but Alfred feels all the more excited, spreading his ass open before Arthur. “What do you think?” He chances a look over his shoulder.

Arthur puts his hands on Alfred's hips, his cock throbbing at the gaping orifice just _asking_ to be filled. Alfred is _wet_ , twitching in anticipation. Arthur couldn't resist. “I better make sure.”

That velvety voice can tell Alfred to do anything and he's sure he'll comply, no questions asked. So when another finger slips in between the ones he already has in his ass, Alfred can only shiver and mewl in pleasure. Arthur's finger is slimmer than his own but it reaches deeper inside of him, knowing exactly where to stimulate his prostate. He jerks away at first, surprised at the shock of sensation but Arthur soothes him with quiet praises, caressing his side with the hand not occupied with his ass.

“Ah-Arthur…”

“You move your fingers, too.”

“Nn okay.” Alfred hangs his head low, stretching his arm further back and focusing on the task at hand. It's a weird tangle of digits. Their combined girth stretches him even further but Alfred wants more, needs to have Arthur--

“Don't rush,” Arthur advises. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Alfred knows that, he does, but he keens all the same when Arthur pulls his finger out. He feels it on him again a second later, swiping up lube from under his ass.

“I don't want to hurt you, luv. So please bear with this a little longer.”

A kiss lands on the small of his back, lingering as two fingers slip in. Alfred deflates, a mute cry escaping with the rush of air out his lungs. Arthur scissors him expertly, dulling Alfred's pain as he finds pleasure in being worked open with obvious care.

He curls his fingers, gauging the malleability of Alfred's walls, catching on the fingertips of the younger man’s digits. Alfred whole body shivers underneath him, pushing back and taking their fingers deeper. Arthur lays the flat of his tongue on the valley between his shoulder blades, tasting the salt of his skin, soaking up the heat and smell of him. He pulls himself free, taking Alfred's hand along.

Alfred whines at the loss, rocking back against empty air until he meets Arthur's lap. Arthur's cock nudges his ass, bare and still wet with his saliva. It makes him gasp, nearly crying when the tip misses his entrance and the length of it settles between the cleft of his ass. He startles when a kiss lands on the back of his hand. Alfred’s eyes snap open, finding Arthur watching him, their clasped hands held to his mouth.

“Eager?” A smile shines amidst the dark greens of Arthur's eyes.

“Hell yes.”

Arthur puts Alfred's hand down to help him balance, wrapping his freed arm around the broad chest and placing his palm at its center. He holds Alfred steady, testing the waters with a slow roll of his hips.

Alfred's ass clenches around him. “ _Arthur!_ Stop teasing!”

“How long have you fantasized about this?” Arthur murmurs in his ear, feeling every excited tremor running over Alfred's body.

“F-ah! Far too long,” Alfred groans. “Please, Arthur… I want you…”

Arthur hums, nibbling on the shell of a beet red ear. “As you wish.” He pulls away just long enough to roll on a condom. Alfred’s ass is raised high on his return, crudely tempting him to mount it, but Arthur has been doing this far too long to be careless now. He ensures that Alfred is well supported with pillows, guiding his position into one that would let him feel the most. “Try to relax, Alfred. I’ll be putting it in now.”

Alfred's nerves are set on high but he does as he’s told. He matches the ins-and-exhales of the man behind him, trusting Arthur with his body. The first nudge of Arthur’s cockhead makes his ass twitch, loose and ready. Arthur eases into him with little resistance, just the sweet sweet feeling of consummation. He breathes easier once Arthur is fully seated, stiff and hot inside of him. Arthur is right, the pillows _do_ help.

“How's that?”

“Much better,” Alfred moans, arms wrapped around the pillow he lays his head on. Looking back, he could just see Arthur in his periphery, tall and proud and so fucking gorgeous. Arthur's cock is inside of him and it sets his whole body on fire. No plug or strap-on could have prepared him for the intimacy of this, for unadulterated joy in being so completely owned, exposed. “You feel amazing.”

“And I can make you feel even better,” Arthur promises, squeezing that sculpted ass.

“Please…”

Alfred has been perfectly desirable since he'd first laid eyes on him and Arthur is happy to oblige. He takes Alfred slowly, with shallow thrusts that has him blissfully sighing. Alfred’s back flexes, responding to every roll of his hips, enunciating the fresh welts and ridges still pinkish from when Arthur scratched them, lost in the throes of passion. He wants to drive Alfred just as wild but it soon becomes apparent that the younger man couldn't be any more different, taking it up the ass.

He moans high-pitched and free, rocking back to take Arthur deeper, hooked on the feeling of being _full._ His cock is cushioned, smothered against soft pillows that soak up his come. The lack of friction on that end is maddening but when Arthur has him covered in every other front, Alfred is far from complaining.  He surrenders all control, leaving Arthur to do as he pleases, gasping like a bitch lost in heat.

Arthur kisses every ridge of bone up his spine, dragging the tip of his tongue over the scratch marks, teeth grazing on his nape. He grips and gropes and grinds, bodies molded together in evolving desire.

 

Alfred cums with a choked cry, breaking his breathless litany of Arthur's name. He thrusts into the tight circle of Arthur's hand, gripping the other one painfully, fisted into creased sheets. Harsh pants mist the valley between his shoulder blades with the way Arthur is bent over his back, hips pounding with abandon until he cums as well, burying his cock deep inside of him. Alfred wishes for a hazy second that the condom was gone, wishes he could feel Arthur's seed flood him, sticky and hot. It makes him keen, clamping down tight, desperate to feel every inch lodged in him.

“ _Alfred..!_ ”

Just hearing his name like that gets another spurt of semen shooting out his dick. Alfred is well and truly in over his head on this but he can't find it in himself to be ashamed. He's been dreaming of and jerking off to this fantasy for years. You can't blame a man for wringing out every last drop.

Arthur collapses heavy on that broad back, clutching Alfred close, struggling to catch his breath. Alfred's cock is heavy in his hand, sticky with cum that's probably soaking into his pillows right now. Arthur finds that he couldn't care less, blissed out from another explosive orgasm. Eventually, the sphincter muscles locking him in loosen up, allowing his flaccid prick to slip out of Alfred. Post-sex cuddles aren't mandatory in his line of work (in fact, most clients prefer him to leave after finishing their business) but right now it feels natural to fall back into Alfred's waiting arms. The bright smile he wears is very much enticing, luring Arthur in like a dizzy moth. “If you're still this energetic,” Arthur begins, propping himself up, arms crossed atop Alfred’s chest. “Then I haven't fucked you hard enough.”

“You did,” Alfred tells him, shifting his ass a little and biting his lip. “Feels like you carved the shape of your cock in me back there. It's…” He stares at Arthur for a long second. “I loved it.”

It's the sincerity in Alfred's tone, the quiet intensity, that does him in. Arthur has bedded too many people and too few have made lasting impressions but this… “Charming, aren't you?” He traces a finger down Alfred's jaw.

“Just speaking the truth.”

“Mm.” His finger hooks under Alfred's chin, thumb coming up to caress supple lips. “The only drawback to the leapfrog is missing out on these lips.” They part easily, willingly, and Arthur wonders how is he supposed to resist this.

_Then take them._ Those blue, blue eyes seem to say. _Take me._

Alfred clearly wants more, more than sex, more than what Arthur can give, but he doesn't say another  word. The only sound he makes is a pleased hum deep in his throat, giving up his mouth for Arthur to devour.

Just as well.

Arthur already likes him far too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand we're done! adios, adieu, auf weidersehen~  
>  ~~unless my muse picks up on that alicexalfredxarthur offshoot~~
> 
> i'll be finishing up my piece for the [ukusonly's 2018 calendar](http://ukusonly.tumblr.com/tagged/2018-calendar/chrono) after this  
> and _then_ i can probs get back to say it's us  
>  ;u;


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